


Three times Draco Malfoy rescues a drunken Harry Potter, and one time he doesn't have to

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Draco likes consent, Fluff and Smut, French Desserts, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Post-War, Unemployed Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry isn't sure when Draco became his default caretaker during his emotionally-driven binges, but here they are.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 266





	Three times Draco Malfoy rescues a drunken Harry Potter, and one time he doesn't have to

The first time, it was September, when the skies were still a bright blue but the air was rapidly developing a chill. Harry had just quit his position as an auror for the Ministry, and suddenly felt the immense weight of his decision pressing in the spaces between his ribs. He struggled for breathe as his callused fingers clutched at the sides of the grimy sink, he wiped a trace of vomit from his mouth with the back of his hand. The short breathes he managed to achieve reeked with the stench of piss that the bar's bathroom permanently possessed. Sure, he successfully escaped a life defined only by fighting and death and exhaustion, but he now faced a mountain of uncertainty, waiting to be chipped away by the first decisions he would ever make for himself. Perhaps it was a good thing that up until now all decisions had been out of his control.

The mirror over the sink reflected Harry's terror, the whites of his eyes reddened from rubbing and tears, the bruise-colored stains under his eyes complimenting his irises. His throat burned from retching, which could have resulted from the whiskey or the mental health crisis, or perhaps both. His first independent decision to get drunk after stomping out of the ministry in a rage at noon was going so well.

Harry splashed cool water over his face and disheveled hair as the bathroom door creaked to reveal a polished-looking Draco Malfoy. His long, gray trench coat hung open to reveal a white button-up jumper over a black and white striped turtleneck. Tight fitting cream-colored pants hugged his thighs and the click of his black dress shoes echoed in the small grungy bathroom. He looked horribly out of place.

As the bathroom door swung closed, Malfoy glanced around the room, as if evaluating whether this location was a proper place to take a piss, and his eyes suddenly settled on Harry. He and Malfoy had been civil over the last several years, as Malfoy's line of work as a cursebreaker often placed him on the same case as Harry's aurorial duties. They'd been civil at work functions, worked better than expected as partners in field work and even taken to going out for a drink here and there. It had been nice to have someone to talk to when Harry came out as gay, finding the shared experience to be a relief for his pent up anger and shame. Harry might venture to say they were friends, but he knew better than to say that out loud.

Malfoy fixed a haughty gaze at the site of Harry: snot dripping from his nose, yellow chunks on his oversized maroon sweater, and hair reflective of a bird's nest. He cast a strong cleaning charm in Harry's direction as he approached, the clicking of his heels almost soothing to Harry. The vomit vanished from his sweater and Malfoy reached out, placing his hands on each of Harry's shoulders.

"Potter, it's not even four in the afternoon," he wrinkled his pointed nose in disdain as he caught the scent of Harry's breath, and released his shoulders to cast an industrial-strength teeth-cleaning charm.

"Ouch, that one hurt," Harry slurred as he clamped his hand over his mouth. His teeth ached, reminding him of his teeth-whitening charm that went south last year. Draco had been the one to brew the potion to reverse the effects of the spell before his teeth looked like Swiss cheese.

"Yes, well, the ends justify the means in this case. How much have you had to drink?" Draco placed his hands back on Harry's shoulders, a comforting gesture.

"Couldn't even tell you, ask Tom," Harry mumbled, referring to the bartender that had contributed to Harry's sorry state. Harry closed his eyes and swayed slightly as another wave of nausea washed over him.

"Oh no you don't," Malfoy reacted quickly, turning Harry by his shoulders back towards the sink. He rubbed his left hand gently down Harry's neck, resting on the rise and fall of his shoulder blades as he bent over the sink bowl. Malfoy's right hand came to rest on Harry's forehead, holding his glasses and fringe out of his face as his stomach emptied once more. Harry glanced up in the mirror again, shame filling the empty space in his gut.

As he stood up straight, Malfoy cast another teeth-cleaning charm with less bite than last time. His hand lingered on Harry's lower back, helping Harry regain his balance. Once Harry seemed somewhat stable, Malfoy released his hand and offered his arm instead. "Think you can handle a side-along? Or should we find a floo?"

Harry swallowed hard and willed his stomach into submission, "I can handle it. Don't want to go back out there like this. Shit, my tab, I haven't paid yet." The nervous roil returned to Harry's gut, unhappy with the idea of potentially being photographed in this state.

"I already paid it, don't worry about it, Harry," Draco said, eyes cast downward.

"What? How?"

Draco continued to avoid eye contact as he contemplated his answer, "Look, I heard about what happened today, and if I've learned anything about you over the last couple of years it's that The Savior drinks his feelings and likes to do so at this bar. Please, just because you're oblivious to everything around you doesn't mean the rest of the world is the same."

Harry felt the heat creep up his neck and jaw. "Fine Malfoy, let's just go," he spits just before he feels the disjointing pull of Draco's apparation.

Harry woke surrounded by a comfortable warmth, soft linen and the smell of a fire. As he opened his eyes, he noted the beige tones to the unfamiliar walls, the forest green shade of the bed he occupied and the blurry lines of a bedside table to his left. He aimlessly groped for his glasses on the table and shoved them on his face. The rapid clearing of his vision brought forth another roll from his stomach, but he felt empty. He laid his head back down, squeezing his eyes shut, unconcerned that he didn't know where he was or how long he'd been out, as he waited for his stomach to settle yet again. When he opened his eyes this time, he did so slowly, allowing the world around him to come into focus. As he took in his surroundings with increasing clarity, the details of that afternoon (yesterday?) developed as well. Embarrassed, Harry climbed to the edge of the bed to find he was no longer wearing vomit-scented, oversized clothing. It had been replaced by more forest green, in the form of silky pajamas and Slytherin socks. He felt his lips turn downward at the cruel joke, but didn't think he had the bearings to bend down and remove them.

Harry took his time rising from the bed, with only a mild, heady feeling of dehydration, and made his way out the bedroom door. Each step away from the comfortable bed proved a bit more difficult as a pounding headache distorted his balance. He found his way, eventually, to what appeared to be a living room containing Draco Malfoy lying stretched out on a deep gray sofa in front of a crackling fire. Malfoy looked up at Harry's appearance and grinned. "Green is definitely your color, Potter," he teased, before adjusting to a sitting position and patting the sofa next to him.

Harry took his cue and plopped down gracelessly, happy to be sitting again. The world spun slightly as Draco handed him a small, glass vial filled with a shimmery lavender liquid and Harry took it graciously. He doubted a hangover potion would alleviate all of his woes but it would at least make the room stand still. The edges of his vision immediately began to still, the pain behind his eyes easing shortly after. He didn't care what people said about Draco Malfoy, he brewed an excellent hangover potion.

"Better?" Malfoy said, grin still in place as he raked his eyes down Harry's body to settle on the Slytherin socks. He nudged Harry's foot with his own, "Nice socks."

"Shove it, Malfoy, I was vulnerable and you took advantage!" Harry lamented. He was teasing of course, just happy that someone friendly had found him before a reporter from the Daily Prophet had. "These socks make my feet burn, I may just have to cut them off. And what the fuck is with these pajamas? Where are my clothes?" He asked.

"In the bin, where they belong. Oh don't try to admonish me Mr. Potter. They were atrocious before you decided to go and spew all over us on the way here," Draco cocked an eyebrow, flourished a wrist, always one for the dramatics. Harry sunk further into the couch. "Oh yes… I will never trust you again to apparate after a binge, you'd think I would have learned the first time. But no, out of the kindness of my heart, I took the risk so that you wouldn't have to suffer the consequences and get photographed while you could barely stand. Look where that got me, cleaning up sick and now having to entertain The Boy Who Lived after you wore my pajamas and slept in my bed," He gestured to the couch, falsely indicating how put out he was to take care of Harry.

Harry smiled up at Draco from under his wild fringe, enjoying the entertainment. It used to be such a malicious intent to get each other worked up and play the dramatics, but now, it was a sort of game. Neither of them took it seriously, but both still enjoyed goading the other into a reaction. Harry spun on the couch, leaning against the arm rest and placing his feet in Draco's lap. Malfoy looked down at Harry's feet as if he'd been handed a mutant baby, unsure of what to do. "Thank you, for your help, really Malfoy. It could have been so much worse. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't found me."

Malfoy gently rested one hand on Harry's foot, rubbing his thumb up and down the arch. He and Harry both watched, as his thumb trailed up and down the Slytherin insignia on the bottom of Harry's foot. "You're welcome, Potter. Couldn't just leave you like that, could I?" He said quietly.

"Five years ago you would have," Harry said without thinking. He grimaced, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Instead of withdrawing, Draco gave Harry's foot a light squeeze and went back to his ministrations. He looked up from his work and said, "You're right, Potter. I would have. I'm glad I'm not that man anymore."

"Me too, Draco."

* * *

  
The second time, it was December, but not a December that could be photographed and put on a postcard. It was cold, but not cold enough for snow. So instead, the skies let loose several weeks of cold, bone-chilling rain, just in time for Christmas. Harry didn't mind the weather as it allowed for him to mope more effectively. He hadn't opened the liquor cabinet in over a month, learning it didn't do well for his mental health. But today was to be the exception. His downward and inward spiral towards his deep, buried emotions was a long journey and whiskey helped to smooth the ride. He'd unlocked the cabinet earlier this week, while Walburga shrieked in the background, but didn't open it. It was after his lunch with Ginny that afternoon when the doors creaked open, a bottle of was ridded of dust and poured into an old, stained glass.

Harry had dove headfirst into the warm, amber liquid and remained submerged since early afternoon. It had been dark for hours when Hermione had tried to visit through the floo and he was forced to lock it down. He hadn't vomited yet, deciding the journey would be smoother if he took the dark decent at a nice gentle pace. By now, Harry's hands shook and his head spun as he sat on the floor, legs stretched out before him, staring into the dancing flames. Just when life seemed to pick up, everything always came crashing down around him.

Harry heard a firm knock on the front door, but ignored it. Hermione could get in if she wanted. Instead, the loud clash of the front door being forced open was followed by Draco Malfoy carefully stepping through the doorway, his grace an odd juxtaposition against the damage he'd caused getting into the house. Draco quickly vanished the sunken-eyed Dumbledore before he could finish screaming his dead godfather's name and dusted off his jacket. Walburga took up her shrieking again, audible even under several sheets covering her frame. "You really need to do something about this house, Potter. It's disturbing."

Harry rolled his eyes, unexcited to have company. It was difficult to wallow away in your sorrows when someone was constantly trying to pull you out of them. Harry didn't want to be rescued today, he wanted to be left alone.

Draco approached, the characteristic tapping of his shoes muted once he arrived at the dusty rugs covering the floor of the sitting room. He toed off his shoes, a new deep brown leather pair, and sat gently beside Harry on the floor. His feet stretched out in front of him, mirroring Harry with the exception of Draco's slightly longer legs. Harry threw himself back to lay on the rug, covering his face with his right forearm. His glasses pressed sharply into the bridge of his nose, but he didn't care. "Why are you here, Draco?" he mumbled into his arm.

Draco laid back, gracefully resting on his side, propping himself up on his left elbow. He took the opportunity presented to him and gently poked at Harry's exposed right side. Harry brought his arm down rapidly, covering his vulnerable ticklish ribs, and frowned at Draco. Draco smirked, "There we are. Now are you going to have a civil conversation or are you going to continue to pout like a three-year-old denied dessert?"

Harry closed his eyes and moaned, discontented to be having any conversation at all and unprepared to have a civilized one. Judgment and inhibitions long-drowned in the half-empty bottle of whiskey, his mouth moved faster than his brain and blurted out, "She's engaged. And pregnant." His mind rapidly supplied him with visions of Ginny's slightly swollen abdomen, the glow of her cheeks, the glint of the ruby on her left hand. He turned on his right side just as a tear escaped, leaving a sheen behind as it trailed down his cheek.

Draco reached out, hesitantly, and swiped the tear off Harry's cheek with his thumb. His hand came to rest over Harry's on the ground and they laid still for a while, allowing Harry to pull his thoughts from the churning lake that was his whiskey-filled brain. Tears flowed freely and Harry's shoulders hitched occasionally as Draco quietly supported him, murmuring an occasional, "There, there" or "It's going to be fine, Harry, you'll get through this." Eventually, the tears slowed and Harry collapsed back on his back, staring at the ceiling through foggy glasses. Draco reached over to remove the frames from Harry's face, cleaned them on his soft, likely cashmere sweater, and gently placed them back on his face. Harry glanced up at Draco, a bit sheepish, and said, "Er, thanks. You never told me, why are you here? You're not one to show up unannounced."

"Hermione fire-called me, said she'd been locked out of your floo. She was worried about you," Draco said, and brushed a piece of damp hair out of Harry's face. The fact that Draco was now the one who got called to tend to Harry in need, spoke volumes. "Tell me about it, Potter."

Harry sat up, and moved to lean against the couch, crossing his legs in front of him. Draco slid over to join him, their bodies lined up from shoulder to ankle. "What is there to tell? She's pregnant, she's happy, she's engaged to some American arsehole. Hermione and Ron are expecting another, they've moved into a cottage in the country. Everyone is successful and happy and moving on while I'm still living in a haunted house and sucking cock in alleyways. What the fuck is wrong with me, Draco?"

Draco leaned into Harry gently, taking his right hand into his own. He spoke softly, "There's nothing wrong with you, Harry. Your timing is not everyone else's timing. Do you want to have children and move into the country?" Harry interlaced their fingers, gripping a bit tighter, savoring the contact. Draco's eyes were honest, vulnerable, waiting for the answer.

"No." Harry said quickly. Whiskey or not, he knew that answer. But while it was easy to know what he didn't want, it was a lot harder to accept what he did want. "I just feel like a failure. No one needs me anymore, and that means I can do whatever I want for myself. Only problem is I don't fucking know how. I don't know what I'm doing," Harry admitted. In all honesty, Draco had become the easiest person to talk to over the last couple of months. Harry quitting the ministry meant most of their time together was spent socializing on their terms. And considering Harry's friends were off procreating and Draco's were in France, that left a lot of time to fill.

Draco released Harry's hand and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close. "No one knows what they're doing, Harry, that's the secret. Everyone else is just better at faking it than you are."

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's ribs, enjoying the feeling of comfort and safety, the lack of pressure to be someone he isn't. He let out a long exhale and closed his eyes. "You know I was never good at faking," Harry mumbled, eyes heavy with impending sleep, "I must not tell lies." He chuckled and settled in closer, before being carried off to a dream of blonde hair, porcelain skin and gray eyes.

Harry woke early, although it was difficult to tell with certainty when the skies were still so gray and gloomy. His eyes were crusted, his muscles sore and stiff as he began to roll over on to his back. But he found he couldn't, due to the heat of a body pressing against his back, and arms wrapped around his middle, a leg shoved between his own. He looked over his shoulder to see Draco, eyes closed, quietly sleeping, morning breath skating across Harry's face. Memories from the previous night flooded Harry's mind, but instead of feeling shame or embarrassment, Harry smiled. He watched Draco sleep for a bit longer before casually rolling over and wrapping his own arms around the Slytherin, gently nudging his leg between Draco's. As uncomfortable as the floor was, he didn't want to move. He heard Draco hum contentedly and felt Draco's chin rest on top of Harry's head. The two laid, tangled on Harry's floor, until late morning. When they both stood, neither acknowledged the awkwardness of the situation, and both proceeded into Harry's kitchen for tea. As Harry blew at the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he watched Draco move about the kitchen, preparing toast and eggs. He eyed the grace with which Draco moved, the elegance in his hands as he buttered the toast, the quiet humming under his breath, the curve of his bum in the black trousers he wore the previous night. It was with a shock that Harry came to the realization that perhaps this was not the first time he'd caught himself admiring Draco Malfoy, and he was completely baffled as to what he was going to do about it.

* * *

  
The third time, it was February, the winter finally displayed in all its glory. Harry sat in his usual bar, unsure of where else to go. He didn't want to see Draco today; in fact, he didn’t want to see Draco ever again. He nursed his lager while watching the front page of The Daily Prophet display his former archnemesis, then work-partner, then friend, now renewed archnemesis, cozy on the front page with none other than Astoria Greengrass. Harry had been blindsided, bamboozled, stunned and… disappointed. Whatever Harry thought the two boys shared was obviously misperceived and Draco had clearly lied about being gay. Maybe this was the longest running gag in history and Harry was the laughing stock of the remaining network of Slytherins in London.

He looked back down into his near-empty glass, and motioned for Tom to bring another. "And let's do a shot of whatever bottle is easiest for you to reach. Yessss, that's a good man, Tim, Tom! Tom, good man, Tom. That'll do," Harry mumbled as he licked his left hand, poured an abhorrent amount of salt over the slick wet spot and spilled more all over the bar-top. He downed the clear, burning liquid, quickly following by licking the salt off his hand and biting down on the lime slice that Tom had so graciously provided. Tequila was always a good choice. Or not, depending on how he looked at it. But for now, it was a good choice. The warmth pooled in his belly as he placed the spent lime back into the shot glass and took a sip of his beer.

A gust of winter's wrath burst through the door as Draco Malfoy walked into the bar. He spotted Harry at their usual spot and immediately his face fell, realizing what he'd be dealing with for the day. Not that this happened often, but it worried Draco when Harry got like this. What worried him more was the reason this time.

"Oh dear, what have we got here?" Draco said as he removed his plaid scarf and black wool peacoat to reveal a dark green long sleeved shirt that flattered Draco's skin tone. Harry pushed a newspaper onto the floor behind the bar, grinning cheekily at the bartender. As Tom bent down to pick the paper off the floor, Draco joined Harry on the barstool next to him and swiveled to face Harry straight on. "Spill it, Potter, what is it this time? Tequila shots without me?" He added, spotting the lime-filled shot glass on the counter.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. Everything is perfectly fine. Tim! Get my friend here one of those shots with the lime! He's celebrating! And hell, I'll take another too," Harry yelled, a bit too loud for comfort. A few patrons glanced their way, even these days feeling privileged enough to pry into the private business of The Boy Who Lived. Draco sneered, waving a wandless muffliato around them and wincing an apology at Tom. Tom simply shrugged as if to say it's all part of the job, and placed the two tequila shots and limes on the counter in front of them.

"Have you ever done one of these before Draco? Here let me teach you," Harry slurred drunkenly. Draco was impatient to get Harry out of the public eye before he made too much of a scene, so quickly grabbed his shot and downed it, sans salt or lime. This was obviously the wrong move.

"Nooooo," Harry belted dramatically. "You're doing it all wrong, look here." Harry unexpectedly grabbed Draco's hand, firmly but not painfully and held it in front of his own face. "You have to do the salt," he said and pornographically licked a stripe up the back of Draco's hand. Draco's eyes widened as he watched Harry's tongue take one more lick, for good measure, Harry's pupils blown and lids heavy. How much had he had to drink?

Harry's green eyes focused on Draco intensely, even as he clumsily poured the salt on the shiny wet from Harry's tongue on the back of Draco's hand. He didn't let go of Draco's hand as he reached for the second shot glass, and handed it to Draco. "Salt, shot, lime," Harry said, watching expectantly.

Draco swallowed nervously and watched Harry for a brief moment. His gaze fixed on Harry, he slowly licked the salt from the pale surface of his hand, never breaking eye contact. Then proceeded to take his second shot, quickly replacing the shot glass with the lime wedge. The burn from the tequila mixed with the salt and sour bite from the lime, causing Draco to pucker his lips. Shots were never his favorite, but he could handle himself just fine. "Happy now, Potter? Can we go?" Draco rushed.

"Ahhh that was ssssso much better, Draco!" Harry said around hiccups. "Why do we need to go? We should stay! Here, let me send a patronus to Astoria and she can join us. I bet she'd like the way you lick that salt…" Harry grumbled, a poor attempt at hiding his discontent. Draco had a hunch Harry wouldn't take kindly to the photographs in the paper, and had wanted to explain before it was too late. Clearly, it was too late.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry, look at me. Astoria is nothing, she means nothing. Don't take everything you read so seriously. You know how bad The Prophet can be," Draco pleaded. Things had been going so well lately between the two of them and Draco had finally allowed a bit of hope to catch fire in his chest. A small spark, that was at risk of going out from even a slight drizzle. He took a deep breath and mustered what little Gryffindor-like courage he possessed, "Harry, you already know I'm gay. What is the problem?" Not as gentle as he had hoped, but straight to the point. His palms began to clam up and he pulled at the collar of his shirt. Despite the weather outside, it was blistering in the bar.

"Didn't look very gay to me, Malfoy. What are you playing at? Has all of this been a complete joke to you? Fuck off," Harry shot at him. Harry leaned on the bar, resting his chin in his hand. He looked exhausted, Merlin knew how long he had been drinking. Draco had to proceed carefully, as reasoning with Harry in this state was not always possible.

"Harry, look. Please, will you listen to me? Astoria is seeing a muggle-born gentleman named Landon. Her parents would absolutely not allow it, so we're playing the press to throw them off. It's nothing, I promise Harry, please, will you listen? It means nothing, I couldn't do that to…" Draco caught himself and shut his lips tight. Harry glanced sideways at him, but didn't acknowledge any of what Draco had said. It seemed impossible but it got even hotter in that room. Draco could feel a drop of sweat trickle down his spine as he brushed his damp hair off of his forehead. He looked a disheveled mess, he was sure, but he needed to convey how much he needed Harry to believe him. So he did the only thing that popped into his mind, and took Harry's hand off the counter and discretely laced his fingers through Harry's under the bar. This got Harry's attention as he turned his barstool slightly towards Draco, eyes widening, lips slightly agape.

Draco looked down at their hands while he spoke in hurried, pleading tones, "Harry James Potter, you can't truly be that thick, can you? You'd think this is all a rouse to trick you? And then what? Harry, I don't know how you make it day-to-day in that oblivious head of yours, but you have to know that Astoria isn't who I want, right? You know that, right?" Draco looked up from their entwined hands and was pinned by Harry's intense stare. He saw a bit of fear, and a bit of relief in those green eyes. Suddenly, Harry stood and swayed on his feet. Draco let go of his hand to steady him, giving Harry a questioning look. Harry threw down a handful of galleons and nodded to Tom, "Keep the change, good sir. May I use your floo?"

And of course, who could say no to Harry Potter? Tom nodded yes and gestured toward the back door. Harry re-laced his and Draco's hands and lead the way toward the back of the bar. Before Draco could say anything, Harry had pulled them both through the fireplace, sending them to Draco's flat without asking. They both tumbled out of the floo, Harry pulling Draco down with him as he tripped and they both lay in a heaving mess on Draco's sitting room floor. The two men lay tangled together, neither sure of how to proceed. Draco contemplated his options, and cleared his throat.

"Harry, I know you are full-blooded Gryffindor, and like to jump headfirst into anything and everything. But may I remind you, that you are in fact, extremely drunk and you may be more tequila than Gryffindor blood at this point. I think we need to take a breather, and talk about this when you're more, um, sober," Draco reasoned, as much as his body was telling him to do otherwise. Harry's hand was casually resting underneath Draco's coat on his waist, his thumb tracing circles on top of his shirt.

They both laid facing each other on the floor, shallow breaths intermingling and legs tangled. Harry leaned in slightly, eyes half-closed and whispered, "We can talk tomorrow, that's fine. There's just one thing I want to do first," and before Draco could think up a response, Harry's lips were on his, gentle and unhurried. His lips were soft as they moved against Draco's own, and Draco was unsuccessful in suppressing a moan from escaping. Harry took advantage of his parted lips and slipped his own tongue past Draco's lips to explore his mouth. Draco brought his hands up to Harry's messy curls, relishing the feeling of his soft hair tangling in between his fingers. He gave a slight tug, as Harry clung to Draco's ribs, fingers pressing roughly into his skin. The heat in the bar was nothing compared to what now pulsed through Draco's veins.

Harry changed courses quickly, pushing Draco onto his back and sliding gently on top of him and framing his face with his forearms, not quite fully relinquishing his weight. One leg slid between Draco's and Harry pressed, ever so slightly, against Draco's quickly hardening length. He abandoned Draco's mouth to place soft kisses along his jaw, behind his ear, down the taught muscle in Draco's neck. Draco released Harry's hair to move his hands down his back, feeling the muscles flex as he made his way down to settle them on Harry's arse, giving a gentle squeeze and pushing his weight up against Harry. At that he heard Harry huff a laugh, and Harry forwent his exploration to look down at Draco.

"Thought I was too drunk," Harry chuckled and trailed his tongue down Draco's neck, sucking at a spot on his collar bone.

"You are," Draco hummed at the sensation of Harry's tongue on his neck, frowning at the loss when he gently guided Harry's face back up to his. "We really should stop. I don’t want you to do anything you might regret," Draco said, trying to convince himself. "Come on, let's go to bed, we can talk in the morning." And at that, Harry placed one last, lingering kiss on Draco's lips and rolled off of Draco. He offered a hand to help Draco up off the floor and entangled their fingers. Draco supported Harry as he stumbled down the hallway into Draco's bedroom, where they both immediately collapsed onto the bed, curled into the warmth of each other's bodies and slept soundly until morning.

Morning found Draco and Harry exactly as night had left them. Limbs tangled together, fingers grasping onto whatever they found, facing each other, as if telling secrets. Draco was the first to wake, the morning sun pouring in through the open-curtained window he was facing. He took some time to admire the fact that Harry Potter was in his bed, clinging onto his body, pressing his morning erection into his thigh. Smiling to himself, he nudged Harry with his thigh and the man woke gently. Sleepy eyes gazed at Draco, hair ruffled and Salazar save him if it wasn't the most adorable thing Draco had ever seen. Harry wriggled closer to Draco, if that was even possible, and nuzzled his nose into Draco's neck, breathing deeply. "Good morning," he whispered against Draco's skin.

Draco closed his eyes at the heat blossoming under Harry's mouth, and hummed softly. "Good morning, how are you feeling?" Draco asked, worry creeping in that last night was a drunken mistake and nothing more.

"Tequila is not my friend," Harry chuckled, looking up at Draco. "But it's better waking up with you. Draco, I don't regret a thing. Honest," Harry said seriously. "Look, I know we still probably have some things to work out and some history that will need dug up, but hear me out. I think we can make it work. Draco Lucius Malfoy, I like you, I like being with you and I like the person you've become. I want to give this a try if you do," Harry confesses, removing his beating, blood-dripping heart from his chest and gently placing it in Draco's outstretched hands.

Draco reached a hand out to gently cup Harry's face and took a moment to appreciate his honesty. "Harry, I like you too. And yes, you are absolutely right, there are conversations that have to happen. But, I'm willing to have them if you are. And while we are here, let's start off with me saying I'm sorry, for treating you the way I did in school. And for being a downright prick. I know I'm not who I used to be, but part of me still thinks I don't deserve to have nice things, that I still need to pay for what I did. But Harry, I… I want this. I want us. I want you, and I'll work every day to prove I earned it."

Harry responded in true Gryffindor taste, with action rather than words. He curled his fingers in Draco's shirt around his waist, and pulled Draco close, meeting him in the middle with his lips. They were warm, a bit dry from the night's sleep but Draco would chose them again and again. He took Harry's bottom lip between his, running his tongue along its surface and giving it a light nip with his teeth. Harry apparently found this quite appealing, letting out a whispered, "Fuck" under his breath and crashing their lips together with more force.

It was an overwhelming wave of lips and tongues and hands and teeth. Draco soon found himself straddling Harry, nipping and sucking his way down Harry's neck, pulling the collar of his t-shirt down for better access to his honeyed skin. Harry quickly remedied the situation by ripping his shirt over his head and pulling Draco closer to recapture his lips with his. Draco's tongue explored Harry's mouth while his hands explored Harry's chest and shoulders and abdomen. He felt the soft trail of hair that disappeared under Harry's joggers and with it, felt the blood rush to his groin. Draco gave the hair a soft tug and felt Harry moan into his mouth, his tongue slick against Draco's.

Harry took hold of Draco's hips and began to grind upward, pressing his hardness against Draco. It was Draco's turn to say fuck, as he felt the friction against his own length, tucked away in his trousers. "Harry… Want you," he managed to get out before Harry sat up, keeping Draco firmly in his lap. Draco met Harry's thrusts with a downward motion of his hips, relishing the pleasure it brought. "If you're not careful…. this will be over… before it's even started," Draco managed to get out between breathes.

"Not before I see you," Harry said before sitting all the way up and laying Draco on his back. Draco eyed Harry nervously as he undid each button of his shirt with tender hands. Harry watched as more pale skin was revealed, but the light caught on a few raised areas on Draco's chest, visible through the small gap in his shirt. With shaking hands, Harry undid the remaining button and gently pushed the sleeves off of Draco's shoulders. Sadness swept over Harry, as he stared, unmoving, at the pain he had inflicted all those years ago.

"We said there were conversations that need to be had. Don't freeze up on me now, Potter," Draco teased, attempting to lighten the mood. As far as Draco was concerned, the silvery scars that graced his chest and abdomen were deserved and Harry wasn't to blame. Did he wish it had ended in something more aesthetically pleasing? Of course. But every time Draco saw a glimpse of a scar in the mirror, reflecting off the light, he was reminded how far he'd come. How much progress he'd made and how vigilant he had to be to keep from sliding backwards.

Harry was still motionless on top of Draco, frozen in guilt. Draco reached a hand to grab Harry's, and guide it so his hand rested on Draco's chest. "This is not your fault. We were both young and stupid. If you can forgive me for what I've done, I would be an idiot to hold this against you."

"Draco, I didn't even know what it did," Harry panicked, breaths short and shallow. "It just said for enemies I didn't even know, I am so sorry. I thought Snape had healed the scars?"

"Not enough dittany to heal, but they are much more shallow than they would have been," Draco shrugged, still holding Harry's hand to his chest. "Harry listen to me, the fact that you no longer think of me as your enemy, but as your friend… more than your friend," Draco added sheepishly. "It's more than enough. Please believe me, there is nothing to forgive here." Draco clasped his free hand behind Harry's neck and pulled him down to meet his mouth.

They moved slowly, learning what made each other moan and say the other's name. Eventually, clothes shed, Draco grasped both of them in his hand, moving his wrist quickly along their joined shafts, holding them together tightly. Harry pumped into Draco's fist, reveling in the feeling he could have from being with this man that had been his enemy so long ago. They both finished quickly and out of sync. Draco stretched out on his back and Harry draped across his body, depositing kisses each time he shifted to explore somewhere new. Eventually they both settled into a stillness, enjoying each other's company and the feelings that came with it.

* * *

  
Draco knew it would be the fourth time, and it was June. Spring had ended in a wave of heat and humidity, the air weighing heavily on Draco's body as his thoughts weighed heavily on his mind. Today was June 5th, Draco's twenty-sixth birthday and he was an absolute wreck. Today was the day that he and Harry had planned to publicly reveal their relationship. After four months of being together, working through the hard conversations, stolen kisses in an alley, tangled hands hidden behind backs, subtle touches under tables, they were ready. They had been successful thus far, keeping their relationship hidden from prying eyes and gossiping tongues. But hiding and secrecy brought strain and stress with them, and both men were ready to live their lives without secrets.

The first round of reveals began the previous month, with the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio. It was a Friday evening, and Draco came tumbling through Harry's floo after a week of traveling to Morocco for a cursebreaking job. It had been gruesome, their first time separated since coming together. Luckily, the work was exhausting enough to allow Draco to dive in and submerge himself in diagnostic spells and unraveling of dark magic. But the nights were filled with a sense of longing for a man with a lightning bolt scar like veins down the side of his face. The night before Draco left, he had let Harry inside him, let him fill him up and fuck him until he was screaming Harry's name, begging for release. Harry had brought his hand around to tug at Draco's aching prick while burying himself in Draco's arse, setting a relentless pace. Draco had spilled over Harry's hand, the pressure too much to handle. His muscles contracting and squeezing Harry's cock had brought Harry over the edge, and both had collapsed on the bed until morning. They showered together quickly, sucking each other off before Draco was off to Marrakech for the week.

Draco thought about that night as he emerged from the floo, located Harry in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place and pinned him to the workbench. His hands explored Harry's body, running up and down his sides before coming to rest in the back pockets of Harry's jeans. Tongues intertwined, breathless, he used his newfound leverage to grind his already hard cock against Harry. A deep moan escaped Harry's open mouth before he said, "Fuck, I missed you. Need you, now." He spun Draco around and pressed him into the cabinets, rubbing his own hard length against Draco's arse. Draco pushed back against him, relishing the feeling, body aching to be touched.

Harry reached to Draco's front to undo his belt buckle as he pressed wet kisses to the back of Draco's neck. Forcefully, he pushed Draco's trousers down and growled when he saw Draco wasn't wearing any pants. Harry stood on his toes, pushed himself against Draco's bare cheeks and nipped at his earlobe, "Are you trying to kill me? Do you know how fucking gorgeous you are?" He panted into Draco's ear. Harry brought a finger up to Draco's lips and pressed gently inside. Draco smacked his lips as Harry removed his finger and said with a smirk, "Thought you'd like it, would've showed up naked if I hadn't flooed from the portkey offices."

"Do that next time, please," Harry mouthed against Draco's neck as he pressed his wet index finger delicately around Draco's tight hole. Draco bucked against the feeling, desire to be filled pooling in his belly. Harry obliged, in no mood for teasing, and breeched the ring of muscle with his finger, sighing at the feeling of how tight Draco felt around just one finger. After working in and out of Draco, he gently added another digit, stretching Draco open to allow for Harry's size. Draco groaned while riding Harry's fingers, shivering slightly when Harry crooked his fingers to graze that sensitive spot.

"Merlin, Harry, you gorgeous prick, just fuck me already will you?" Draco yelled as he moved to grab his own cock. They both stopped immediately, Draco leaning against the workbench, Harry with his finger buried inside Draco, as they heard a shocked, "Oh dear," from the living room.

"Harry, it's Hermione. Do you still want to go out for dinner?" She voiced nervously from the other room. For all of Hermione's attempted tact, Ron had apparently burst through the floo afterwards, ignored Hermione's warnings and walked confidently into the kitchen. "Hey mate, where do you want to- bloody hell, what the fuck, Harry?" He quickly retreated into the living room, carrying on to Hermione, "Do you know who is in there with Harry? Since when is he fucking the ferret?" His voice cracking at the end.

Harry had gently removed his fingers, Draco whimpering at the loss of contact. He turned around to face Harry as he called back to his friends, a grimace turning into an expression of deviance on Draco's face as he reached for Harry's still hard cock to give it a squeeze. "Oh… We can hear you, Ron, shut it will you? Er, We have been fucking for nearly four months to answer your question. More than fucking, we are dating. And we're, ah, very happy." Harry looked up at Draco, to gather his thoughts while Draco kept his hands down Harry's joggers, circling his leaking tip with his thumb and proceeding to gently massage his balls. Draco smiled gently at Harry before whispering, "Very happy," and giving Harry a chaste kiss on the lips.

So now it was June 5th. Their relationship had been revealed to those who mattered, namely the rest of the Weasleys, Pansy and Blaise and to Draco's parents, via owl post. They were ready, but Draco feared this level of emotional turmoil would push Harry over the edge, as it had before. He was fully prepared, with sobering potions and hangover potions shrunk down to fit in the pockets of his robes. Draco heard the rush of the floo and soon saw Harry peak around the wall of the kitchen.

"Happy birthday, Draco," he said as he made his way over to where Draco was standing and pulled his long, slender body against him. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco tightly, holding on as if afraid he wasn't real, and Draco would vanish as soon as he let his guard down. He was surprised to find Harry completely sober, having previously convinced himself that he would need the alcohol to make it through the evening. Surprised but content, Draco brought his hands up to frame Harry's face, and kissed him softly, teasing with his tongue but taking it slow. They had somewhere to be, and couldn't afford to get distracted. Harry reluctantly released Draco before pulling a package from his jacket pocket. He waved a hand to unshrink the box and handed it to Draco, and said, "I'm sorry it's not much, I know. You can be mad if you want to."

Draco rolled his eyes at the comment, and proceeded to rip the paper off the box. He set the box on the small dining room table and opened the lid to reveal a brilliant green sweater, with a silver "D" emblazoned on the front. He reached down to remove the sweater from its box and held it up in front of him, then flipped it around to hold it up so Harry could see. "Is this one of the infamous Weasley sweaters?" Draco asked with a smirk.

"Actually, since I am a worthless unemployed rascal living off the fortune of his parents and contributing nothing to society, I had Mrs. Weasley teach me how to knit magically. So technically, it's an equally infamous and infinitely more rare Potter sweater," Harry grinned. "So… what do you think?"

Draco was speechless for a brief moment, before he set the sweater carefully back into its box and moved to stand directly in front of Harry, grabbing his hands. "This is the most wonderful present that anyone has ever given me. I love it, Harry, it's wonderful. And I love you, you unemployed rascal." Draco dragged Harry into a heated kiss, sliding his tongue against Harry's, tasting the sweet, milky tea he'd had that afternoon. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and moved his lips down his neck, the heady scent of Draco's woodsy cologne making him lightheaded. He whispered against Draco's soft, pale skin, "I love you too, Draco."

Eventually, they untangled long enough to realize the task at hand for the evening and apparated just outside of Diagon Alley. A restaurant had opened up several months ago featuring French cuisine, Draco's favorite, but they hadn't had the courage to go. Draco's birthday had been the perfect excuse to venture out into public to the restaurant and towards the next phase of their relationship. Draco was nervous, a jittery feeling ceaselessly grinding on his nerves. Harry noticed Draco's tension and after dusting off and straightening his jacket in the alley, grabbed his hand, laced their fingers and kissed his knuckles one by one. "Draco Malfoy, I don't care what a single one of these witches or wizards thinks about you, or about us. But you deserve to have a night out for your birthday, and we aren't going to let them stop us from having a romantic date to celebrate, now are we?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow to lay down the challenge.

"No, no we aren't. I have a gorgeous fucking boyfriend and I can show him off. The Prophet can stop printing those articles about Harry Potter: Most Eligible Bachelor because this fine piece of arse is mine," Draco growled, lightly smacking Harry's arse as they made their way onto the main street. Hands held tight, they wound their way down the street, heads held high against judging eyes. Harry heard a few gasps of shock, as the wizarding public watched its saviour hold hands with a former Death Eater. But he didn't care, not now that he had so much to lose. They couldn't hide forever.

Draco glanced over at Harry, nerves clear on his face as they reached the end of the street, just outside the new restaurant. They had clearly attracted quite the crowd, including a couple wizards Harry had recognized as reporters for The Daily Prophet. Now was as good a time as any.

Harry turned towards Draco, still gripping his hand tightly, the bit of fear in his eyes drowned out by something more prominent, something stronger. "Watch this," he smirked as he angled his body slightly away from Draco to face the busy street.

"Wizards and witches of Diagon Alley! Can I have your attention please?" He placed a quirky emphasis on the word please and shot a devious glance at Draco, who had brought his free hand up to run through his fluffy, blonde hair. Anxiety rolled off him in waves and he couldn't believe they were doing this at all, let alone sober.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I have something I need you to know. This here, is Draco Malfoy. I would prefer if you save your comments until the end, thank you," he said as mousy witch had already attempted to interrupt Harry. "I just want you all to know that Draco and I, we've been in a relationship for a few months now. And I just, can't stop thinking about how fucking happy he makes me and how thankful I am that we were able to move past our long and difficult history. He challenges me, he makes me laugh, he is beautiful, I mean, do you see this man? Stunning. And you know what," Harry turned towards Draco, ignoring the crowd to finish his speech. "I just, I love him, with everything I have. And I would really appreciate it if you arseholes would leave us the fuck alone and let us live our lives in peace. For example, we are going to enter this restaurant as it is Draco's birthday, and we would really love to spend our meal not being harassed. And if one of you even tries to hint at the use of the Imperius Curse I will sue you for slander. Hey you, yeah you, I know you're with The Prophet. Got your camera ready?"

And of course Harry veered off script and pulled Draco close, pressing his lips to Draco's in a wet, dirty and oh-so-satisfying kiss. The world faded away around them, as they publicly proclaimed their relationship in a way no one could doubt. Draco moaned into Harry's mouth, letting his tongue explore as his hands found a familiar path down Harry's back to settle in his back pockets. Harry's hands wound into his hair, destroying any semblance of style he had on leaving the house. He gave Harry a quick squeeze and slowed the kiss until they both were gasping for breath, looking into each other's eyes, the world coming back into view. And at that, Harry reached to grab Draco's hand once again, and they made their way into the restaurant without looking back. No one dared to follow.

They made it through dinner with just two glasses of wine each, enjoying their time in a corner table at the back of the restaurant, per their request with their reservation. Harry didn't have to drink his feelings, for once, and Draco looked forward to a tipsy but not drunken night in bed. It felt like an immense weight had been lifted off of their shoulders and perhaps Harry was comfortable enough to face this with only pure, Gryffindor courage rather than needing extra courage of the liquid variety. They each ate their meals, hardly able to keep their eyes off of each other for long. But Harry knew Draco's weakness for dessert, and counted on it as he subtly slipped off his shoe after transfiguring the tablecloth to hang all the way to the floor. Too consumed in his tarte tatin to notice the decorative alterations, Draco let out a quiet yelp when he felt Harry's sock-covered foot press against his groin. Eyebrows disappeared behind blonde fringe and Draco delivered Harry a look of utter surprise before masking his face and spooning another bit of dessert into his mouth. Harry continued to massage Draco, content to feel his length hardening under the pressure.

"If you don't let me finish my dessert, you will pay for it, Mr. Potter," Draco snarked, but not unkindly. Harry gave one last press to Draco's full length before setting his foot back on the floor and wrestling his shoe back on. He folded his hands on the table patiently and waited for Draco to take his last bite of apple, watching the apple disappear between soft, pink lips.

"Finished?" Harry asked immediately, throwing money on the table and grabbing Draco's hand, disapparating them both out of the restaurant and into Harry's bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

"Excuse me, but are you trying to get me splinched for my birthday?" Draco whined, allowing himself to be guided back to the Harry's bed and gently pushed to lay on his back. Harry bent down to his knees, untying the laces of Draco's shoes and setting them on the floor. He pulled down Draco's socks, and ran his hands up Draco's long legs settling at his waist.

"Just trying to get in your pants, if that's alright with you, love?" Harry said cheekily, but left Draco stunned. Draco leaned up on his elbows and looked down at Harry Potter on his knees, hands playing with the buttons of his trousers. Something in his chest clenched as the word love left Harry's lips and he couldn't help the single tear that formed at the corner of his right eye. Harry looked up, some concern in his face, worried he'd said something wrong.

"If you call me love one more time, you could probably get away with anything you wanted," Draco admitted.

Harry smiled, and said, "Well let's get these pants off, _love_ , and I'll show you what I've been thinking about all day."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please leave a comment with your thoughts!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr [graymatters](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graymatters).


End file.
